


Butterflies

by ahhhhrexa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, Friendship, Gen, Liverpool F.C., Male Friendship, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahhhhrexa/pseuds/ahhhhrexa
Summary: "You're my friend and the club needs you. But I'm going to kill you."Before Luis and Phil can even make their move, Lionel Messi walks up to them, clearly aware of what has transpired, despite not having heard the conversation, and says, "You can't kill him, Luis. He's coming to dinner with us, remember?"Phil blinks, completely thrown off.





	Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> It's been such a long time since I last posted a fic! Life gets in the way, you know. I have so many drafts of stories that I'll finish eventually. This one gets posted quicker because the inspiration for it just hit me so good. 
> 
> I saw the photo of MSC (Messi, Suarez, Coutiho) carpooling together and I was instantly moved to write. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“The house is good, yes?”

 

The question came out quietly, almost like a whisper, so soft that Phil almost missed it. He glances over at his friend as he walks ahead out onto the pitch. Luis looks uncharacteristically shy, a rare thing to occur, especially between them. The way he twiddles with the end of his shirt makes it doubly apparent.

 

“You and the family are all settled?” Luis asks, voice a bit louder as he catches up. He’s tugging his sleeves and biting his nails now. “I know it’s been barely a week in, but still, I hope it’s been, um, calm.”

 

Not wanting his friend to dwell in being unsure, Phil offers up a smile. He playfully nudges his elbow against Luis’ arm, which draws out a shaky breath from the man. This is a Luis not many get to see. For all the controversy, for all the rough spikes that protect him, for all the rushes of, if on occasion, blinding heat, Luis was just a bundle of fluffy, genial nerves. A man that’s all about his family and friends and the sport that helps him take care of those he loves.

 

“Yeah! The family is doing well. The girls and I feel right at home.” Phil replies, slowing his steps to match Luis’. He rubs his arms, trying to keep himself warm. There’s a familiarity to it, reminiscent of an even colder night in Liverpool, that settles into his bones, creating a pleasant sensation. “You really didn’t have to though.”

 

He had been looking all over the Internet with his wife about a suitable home to rent. Maybe with time, they would buy the house as well. They stopped on about three options before Luis called to say that he already got one for him. They tried to resist, citing that they have others to choose from that would fit well for their family, but once they got the logistics of the home, who they’d be living near, and the cost, well the deal was set.

 

“It’s not a problem.” Luis sounds more at ease now. He twists and turns, stretching his arms and his legs as they walk toward the center of the training ground. A smile beginning to show up on his face as he adds, “Anything to help you.”

 

Phil marvels at his friend’s generosity. Luis has done many things to make sure the transition from life as a Red to life as a Cule would be as smooth as possible. He booked the plane tickets to Barcelona. He gave all the encouraging words to the club’s president and to the agents involved. Luis introduced him to his new teammates and showed him around the Cuitat Esportiva. To top it all off, Luis bought the house for him!

 

He remembers all the texts between them before the transfer became finalized. A cross between old jokes they shared in Liverpool to Luis answering his questions about the city to the keyboard smashing when words weren’t really enough. He asked so many questions about the club, about how the others would take to him joining. They talked about the weather, what school to look for, nearby markets and shopping centers, and where would be best to take their children out on a play date.

 

“You have some good neighbors too.” Luis says, winking. The shyness has passed and that familiar confidence is back on his face. He finds a stray ball and launches it upward. “I think the best neighbors anyone can ask for. “

 

Phil walks forward, understanding that the kick was too hard, and intercepts the ball from Luis as it makes its way down. It lands nicely on his foot. He begins to kick it up and down from knee to knee. He makes a note to make sure he gets a hold of a ball sooner next time. He needs the feel of it, and it helps him to make sense of things.

 

Luis and Lionel Messi are his neighbors. Who would have ever thought that? Certainly not him! He half expected his first residence, the starting point, would be an apartment in Placa Catalunya or a rental further into the mountains. A house – no, a mansion on the same street as Luis and just a few steps from Messi’s? He shakes his head at how ridiculous that sounds.

 

“I’ve got an amazing neighbor in the great Messi” Phil says, slowly. He deliberately draws out each word especially emphasizing the word amazing and the name Messi.

 

It’s time to knock Luis’ pride down a peg just a bit. Just because he bought the house ahead of the transfer doesn’t mean he should have an even bigger ego than before and a larger ego than what's necessary. He catches Luis’ facial changes. The self-satisfaction turns into curiosity, the joke has yet to dawn on him, and this makes Phil laugh.

 

“The other neighbor will be trouble,” he adds. He takes delight in seeing Luis’ eyes widen in realization. “So much trouble. I better watch out.”

 

Luis lets out a dramatic sound of pain and falls quite ridiculously to the ground. He lays there, with one hand on his heart and the other covering his eyes. He’s fake grimacing and shaking all at once. It reminds Phil of all the times Luis reacted to apparent fouls, real and imagined, that many footballers committed on his friend.

 

“I’m wounded.” Luis moans exaggeratedly. He doesn’t care if anyone else can see. Phil knows that if Luis wants to put on a show, he’ll perform. “Already chose Leo over me. A friend! We’ve known each other longer!”  
  
Easing the ball back onto the grass, Phil clutches his shirt, a feeble attempt to stop his body from shaking due to just how funny this all was. Seeing Luis peek through his fingers at him only makes his laughter become harder. Luis is something else that’s for sure.

 

After taking a couple of breaths, Phil moves his leg back and keeps it there. He waits for his body to calm, for the warmth in his chest to simmer down just a little bit, and for the tears induced by laughter to dry up.

 

“Who wouldn’t choose him over you?” Phil says with his best matter of fact tone.

 

He strikes.

 

The ball is hit with precision. It races across the short space between them and hits Luis right in the chest. The force doesn’t cause damage but it’s strong enough to elicit a genuine grunt from Luis and a loud “puta” right after.

 

Phil grins from ear to ear. He really has missed this. No matter how they treated each other, whether the joke was big or small, it always made their bond stronger. This is just another notch to their connection. Being involved in antics just like the ones they had back in England.

 

Being in Barcelona, playing for this club, is a dream come true. But being here, with Luis, is everything. Both being things, side by side, is a blessing and one that he won’t ever take for granted.

 

“You’re my friend and the club needs you,” Luis says, his voice lower in tone. It’s one all too familiar to Phil, one that warned of instant retaliation. He rubs his chest as he climbs to his feet. “But I’m going to kill you.”

 

Phil prepares to make a run for it. He knows he’s faster than Luis. It’s just that he doesn’t know the land very well. Better to get a head start than to succumb to whatever Luis barrages him with as punishment. He sees a spot on the field that requires a lot of weaving, where he’ll eventually cross over into the other pitch. He’ll go there if he has too.

 

Luis’ eyes are a lit, looking a bit annoyed, but even so, he has trouble hiding his grin. He’s happy too. A killer striker with a toothy grin, a formidable opponent, it doesn’t matter if he’s playing on the pitch or roughhousing in a more casual environment, if he feels a need to get even, he will. He tilts his head, like a bull, ready to charge forward.

 

Before he and Phil could even make their move, Lionel Messi walks up to them, clearly aware of what has transpired, despite not having heard the conversation, and says, “You can’t kill him, Luis. He’s coming to dinner with us, remember?”  
  
Phil blinks, completely thrown off.

 

What did Messi just say to him? He switches his gaze back and forth from Messi to Luis and back to Messi. He can’t read fully what’s on the Argentine’s face and Luis’ still held a bit of irritation but also anticipation.

 

He blinks again.

 

What does he say?  
  
Phil still has trouble interacting with Messi. The intimidation is there. He can’t deny it. They haven’t exactly held a conversation before. Not here, not in the space that Messi has owned for the past ten years, definitely not with him standing so close. He could barely walk up to Leo during that friendly to ask for his shirt and a signature. He had to get Luis to do it for him. He barely could formulate words now.

 

Standing before him is one of the greatest, if not the absolute greatest, footballer to ever exist. This is the man who has broken record upon record, achieved things that he could only dream. The aura on him is so strong, blinding in a way, even with just standing. The pull he has is so strong, not unlike gravity that one cannot help but to watch whatever Messi does.

 

It doesn’t help that this is the man that Luis and Ney always say good things about. Not only do they praise Messi for his skills on the pitch they more often than not praise the man for his friendship and how deeply gratifying it is. This is Ney’s idol, whom Ney had the pleasure to befriend. This is Luis’ best friend, the man who welcomed him to Barca with open arms and wrapped them around him, not letting go.

 

It’s a lot to take in.

 

He doesn’t want to disappoint anyone. It would bring him great anguish if he ever disappoints Luis. He doesn’t want whatever Luis told Messi or anyone else in the club about him to be false. He could imagine the horror on their faces including his own if he fails and reaches below the bar that’s set for him.

 

What if he doesn’t live up to the expectations? What if he fails his friend? What if he fails Messi and his club?

 

Phil looks over to Luis for support. The words aren’t there at the moment. All he has is his shy smile and ears ready to listen. He could speak with his actions, he wants to, but he’s frozen at the spot. He silently urges his longtime friend to say something, anything to erase the sudden insecurities he felt. Luis needs to say something to make this less awkward.

 

Dinner? Dinner with Messi? Dinner with him and Luis? He’s not worthy. He’s not ready. How can he respond to that? He should know how to respond. It is just dinner. Words are just words tonight. He should speak up.

 

Luis rolls his eyes in faux exasperation. “Dinner with us?” he asks as he stretches out his arms. “What’s next? We’ll pick him up before games?”  
  
Messi is the picture of calm, completely unfazed. He takes the ball from the ground and balances on his left foot. It’s all a little fascinating to Phil. The man looks both ethereal and indulgent in his action as if he’s gone through this before with Luis.

 

“We could do that too.” Messi responds.

 

Phil feels his face go red. The kindness from Luis got him all wound up in gratitude and profusely saying that it’s completely unnecessary, as those butterflies flutter in his stomach, the very same butterflies that he got when he became best friends with Ney. Now this, from Leo, the king of the city, he feels himself winding up yet again.

 

And yes, the butterflies, they show up again.

 

“Isn’t that what Google’s for?” Phil asks quickly. He deflates just a bit. Why did he just say that? Why couldn’t other words be said instead of that?

 

The other two look at him, waiting patiently for him to continue. The butterflies in his stomach soar higher, his ears warm up, and he’s reminded of the time where he first got Ney and Luis to tell him that he was one of their closest friends.

 

“I mean. I appreciate the offer. I really do.” He’s saying all of this very quickly. Maybe too quickly but the words fly out faster than his ability to filter them. “I’m sure you both have better things to do. I can find my way around. A nice restaurant is easy to go to. I’m an adult.”

 

Phil wants to smack himself hard as soon as he says the last sentence. Everyone knows he’s an adult. He can legally drink. He can drive. He is married. He is a father. He is twenty-five years old. Yes, he’s an adult. That’s obvious.

 

But right now, he feels like a child, a child eager to impress and fearful of the opposite.

 

He’ll blame it on the weather. Being new to a place can cause irregularities in behavior. This need to impress is human; many go through it. Besides, it’s Messi, he’s heard multiple times about how welcoming Messi is. This is Luis, he knows Luis, trusts him without hesitation. Why is he acting all silly as if those things don’t matter?

 

“You’re just as stubborn as Luis.” Messi says with a shake of his head. The ball hasn’t moved and neither has his lower body. He nods over at Phil, laying his eyes on Luis. “Stubborn as a child. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as grumpy as you are too.”  
  
Luis roars with laughter. His faces scrunches up, his eyes go bright, and his teeth show. There’s that high pitch tone of his, completely opposite of how others would expect him to laugh, and his hands are clasped together. His laugh has always been contagious to Phil.

 

He would join in too if he wasn’t feeling so nervous already.

 

“Stubborn? Me? Grumpy? Me?” Luis looks like he’s about to fall back onto the ground. Phil thinks he should take the ball from Messi just so he can kick it back at Luis’ chest. But he doesn’t as Luis continues, still laughing, “You’re one to talk. You’re just as grumpy. Hell, you’re stubborn too, Leo. More stubborn than me!”

 

“You’re an idiot.” Messi replies immediately. His eyes are shining too, fondness glimmering in his eyes. He’s happy, incredibly so, as he looks at Luis. The softness in his smile, the way it looks so natural, is so profound in its gentleness. “But yes, I’m guilty of all of that as well.”

 

For some reason, Phil thinks that he should go. This little instance of intimacy before him is a little too much. He tells himself that he should turn away from it. The conversation has gone in a direction he may not like. A strange twinge of jealousy creeps up on him, teasing his insides with an ugly taste.

 

Maybe the years away from Luis were too much. Maybe their friendship wasn’t as strong as he had thought. Besides, Messi is the same age as Luis. They probably have more in common. He’s seen them laugh at inside jokes, enter the pitch and the stadium together, and share the mate. Luis is best striker in the world and Messi is the best footballer in the world. It makes sense that those two would have such a strong bond.

 

Where does that leave him? He’s good, but not that good. He has rave reviews, but not as much as they do. What could he bring to Luis in friendship that Messi hasn’t? All he has are memories of time gone past. Nostalgia can only take them so far. He fears the ship has sailed, and he’s left on the shore as the captain and his right hand man conquer the sea.

 

Phil closes his eyes and bends his head. He pushes those sudden intrusive and negative thoughts down. They had him quickly and are slow to fade. There’s that little rumble, a kick of uncertainty, a deep shyness of being not enough. New territory, new club, new beginnings meant exploration and starting over and he isn’t sure if he can do it. Will he be capable to adapt?

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder. The grip is strong, it doesn’t hurt, and it squeezes him. A little part of him wants to pull away. He will go on that run, down the trail that he envisioned would be a good escape, and just hide – or something. Anything to get away from that unnerving feeling, that new doubt that just decided to reveal itself.

 

Another hand lifts his chin up. It’s just as strong as the one on his shoulder and holds his chin just as firmly. He can almost hear the unspoken words, the strength in those words, insistent in saying, “Look at me.”  
  
Phil opens his eye to see Luis looking at him seriously, the space between them now very little, and the concern deep in his dark eyes. He senses that Luis saw it all, that undesirable lapse in confidence and all that fear.

 

“We’ll take up all of your time.” Luis says in a tone that gave no room for arguements. There’s joy on his face, and a smile so bright and so strong that it makes Phil smile too. “I can’t wait for everyone to see just how perfect you are.”

If he weren’t out here, where other eyes could see, he would probably cry. Phil relaxes, his smile becoming wider with teeth showing, and he nods in acceptance. Without pause, he wraps his arms around his friend. He closes the little space and sighs contently when Luis responds by returning the hug.

 

“So dinner it is.” Phil says, feeling safe. He feels more than good too. He was being silly. That happens. He can get through that momentary breach in confidence. Anything can be overcome really. As long as Luis believes it, he will too.

 

He looks at Messi – at Leo and sees something striking. Leo’s smile seemed brighter too. His face is content, even prideful, and so very accomplished. It is like he didn’t expect any other outcome but this to happen. No surprise settles on his features. He is a man who just knows.

 

Just like Phil knows. He knows he’s happy in Barca. He knows he loves his wife and daughter. He knows his friendship with Luis.

 

Now he knows he can exist in this space, in friendship with Leo and with Luis, and that it will bring him joy rather than defeat.

 

Phil feels hope.  
  
The butterflies appear, fluttering about inside him, urging him onward.  
  
“Know any good Brazilian restaurants?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for this one! I've got a couple of other MSC fics in the works, but I have no clue when I'll post them. My priority right now is to update my Pep/Lucho/Tito series. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Let me know what you thought on here or in private message. Or just leave a kudo. Whatever feels right to you. 
> 
> Bye! <3


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